


the end of it all

by lyuyu



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Love Triangle, Mild Gore, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyuyu/pseuds/lyuyu
Summary: she remembers everything. silence must fall eventually.
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell, Female Detective/Nathaniel "Nate" Sewell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	the end of it all

**Author's Note:**

> copied from tumblr:
> 
> note 1: i just. i really don’t know what came over me i’m so sorry but lowkey also not. writing this was way more emotional for me than i thought it’d be but i have some zero regrets and i just hope it’ll satiate any possible angst needs yall might have. if you’re fond of the LT route this might be just so much more bittersweet. maybe. also in case it confuses someone i threw in some dialogue from one solo route (like, two lines) for storytelling purposes
> 
> note 2: seriously don’t read this if you’re not in the right frame of mind for some really heavy fucking angst
> 
> regarding the violence/gore warning: this isn’t a graphic fic per se but there’s a very short scene that has a throat-crushing (as this was inspired by @31daysofwayhaven day 14 prompt ‘throat’) in it so proceed at your own risk.

They must’ve known they were coming.

The battlefield is all but lost now, the rusted metal walls of the chamber covered in blood and the ground littered with bodies, both dead and living; this never was supposed to go quite this far, it never does, but this time, the Trappers seem to show no sign of retreat.

They’re fighting ‘till last breath, with little regard whether it’s theirs or the unit’s. All the same, silence must fall eventually.

Gwen scrambles back on her feet, having been knocked over for what feels like the hundredth time—the combat training she’d gotten sure has come in handy now, though her stamina is starting to give, her muscles aching and throbbing from head to toe. Taste of metal coats her tongue, such a foul flavour to swallow down, yet she quickly forgets it when yet another Trapper advances in her direction with a makeshift weapon raised.

Her sight is starting to go blurry. Exhaustion crashes in waves against her, making it next to impossible to root in a stable stance. She’s run out of bullets long ago, having to had resorted to using her gun when the cartridge of her Volt had finally emptied. Fleeing, unfortunately, had not been a given option: the Trappers have done the exact thing they’ve probably gotten their name from.

They are _trapped_. Cornered, surrounded, and utterly and completely _fucked._

She forces down another swallow, taking a hesitating step back. The result of her hasty survey of her surroundings is far from an encouraging sight.

Farah, though persistent, has clearly slowed down, clothes dirtied and ripped. The gold of her eyes has dulled, her healing hardly keeping up with the rapid wounding anymore; punches lethargic and imprecise, any attack she starts are finished by Morgan who flashes to her side whenever she can.

The Agency would not be finding them in time, that much is for sure. These sneaky devils had deceived them, lead them off-track enough to ensure that whatever back-up they were to call upon their ambush, they wouldn’t find them quick enough to save them.

(All five of them, anyway.)

They must’ve lead them close to some sort of base, for every Trapper they knock out, there comes two more.

Nate rips into their enemies with a terrifying pace. He might not be the strongest one, but driven into the corner like they have been, he’s as vicious as a wild animal. He hardly takes joy in it, never has, if anything, the pained scowl on his face is not from being wounded himself, but having to hurt others, even under circumstances like these.

It’s a heart-shattering sight in itself, him fighting two demons at once. Coming face to face with a young woman, not much older than Gwen is, Nate visibly falters. Adam’s voice booms from across the room, “ _Nate!_ Snap out of it!”

Nate throws a panicked look in his direction before knocking the girl out as gently as he can amidst the frenzy.

Gwen takes a mental note to drown him in her affection once this is all over. For now, she has to focus.

She fumbles for her gun in the holster. The clip of it may be empty, but it’s still heavy steel, and with a practiced aim, she could still use it to defend herself.

Time to reassess. Taunt them closer and to attack. Block, grab the weapon, twist it away from their hand. After disarming them, use the butt of the gun to strike their temple hard enough to make the lights go out. _You’ve got this_ , she tells herself. _The academy has taught you the basics well. Adam has taught you the rest._

At that thought, her eyes flicker to the commander, and as if on cue, his determined gaze meets hers. The connection is only momentary, as their attentions are quickly caught back by the fight, yet still, even that split-second heat of it speaks more emotion into existence than any words exchanged ever could.

It’s all the fire she needs.

“You sure are eager to follow in your father’s footsteps,” her gaze snaps to the Trapper closing in on her. “Pathetic, little _bitch_. Not so cocky anymore with your pet bloodsuckers preoccupied, are you?”

“Try me,” she hisses back.

The two words are all the aggravation they need, rushing forward with a guttural yell. Gwen roots herself in her place. _Here we go_.

The weapon is only a few inches away from hitting her when she raises her forearm to block it. With a quick twist of a hand, she barely manages to grab it, trying to tug it from the Trapper’s hold. Their grip is too firm, _shit_ , she resorts to whipping around, using the momentum to rip away the weapon and letting it fly from her hand. With the Trapper distracted enough from the move, Gwen raises her elbow, whirling back and slams it against their face with full force.

She’s not sure where the strike had landed—could’ve been their nose, given the crackle—but at least the Trapper slumps down at her feet without making a smallest sound.

Gwen dares to let out a heavy exhale.

“Gwen!” Nate calls out from the middle of the flurry, worry evident in his frantic voice. “Are you okay?!”

“All good!” she shouts back, the dryness of her throat making her cough. She has barely caught her breath when someone slams into her, sending her to the ground, _again_. “ _Ach!_ What the f—!”

“You fucking Agency parasites keep ruining _everything!”_ her tackler shouts, having stumbled a few feet away from her. He’s up now, and coming closer faster than she can get herself to spring back up. Judging from how his voice draws the nearby Trappers’ attention, this must be someone higher up in their ranks. “Well, after tonight, _you_ won’t anymore.”

A selection of weapons hang from his waist, the sound of his combat boots pounding against the ground as menacing and malicious as his words. Gwen tries to shuffle backwards, but peeking an alarmed glance over her shoulder, she comes to realize that her back is close to hitting a wall with little room on her sides to dodge to.

“Oh, _fuck_ me,” she mutters to herself, trying to maybe relieve some of the undeniable horror of her situation with the near inaudible quip.

This may very well be it for her; but this much she’d always known ever since taking this job, that it could also be the cause of her potential end. Still it brings only so much acceptance, looking her demise right in the eye.

(Maybe Mum had been right all along, to fear for her life, even if she might’ve not spared it a second thought herself. This is what she wanted to do. This is what she’ll _always want_ to do, no matter the outcome.)

What little thought there was on how to survive this, it all flies out the window when he reaches her. There’s no pity or mercy in the way he looks down at her, only blood-freezing disgust and ruthlessness, that only further confirms what she already knew true: he would not hesitate.

She won’t bother to beg.

“Go for it, then,” she says through gritted teeth, stumbling to her feet, her back now met with the metallic wall. At least he spares her so much, to not kick her while she’s down. “At least it’ll be some consolation for you, no?”

“Witty,” he’s reaching for something now from his waist, head tilted in mockery, “just like your father.”

_He really must’ve made a hell of an impression for them to bring him up all the fucking time._

So closely in her space now, something flashes in his eyes—a wholly different color—his nose crinkles as though smelling something strong, something she doesn’t. Then, the most curious thing happens.

It’s as if his whole being _flickers_ , to something way else. Suddenly it all clicks together.

“You’re a supernatural,” Gwen breathes.

He barely lifts a brow. “Hm?”

“You,” she repeats. “You’re a supernatural. Working for the Trappers. Why?”

“As interesting as that topic would surely be,” his face melts into a sinister smirk, “I’m much more keen on finding out which one of your little pets will be the one to run to your aid.”

It takes a short moment to process his words, but then, it hits her. It’s a trap.

And Gwen is the fucking bait.

“No,” the word flies out before she can stop it. “You piece of—”

“Now, now,” he interrupts, and though it seemed impossible for him to get any closer, he does, almost on her skin now, his breath warm and splaying on her face. “I’ve done my research as well. I know your weak spots.”

His eyes turn completely black, the twisted grin widening almost so that it swallows his whole chin. Her gaze flits past him, pulled in by a piercing green one.

He whispers with a sneer. “And I know what’s _his_.”

“ _Detective!”_

“Take a good look, Detective.” The wink he gives makes her stomach drop. “While you still can, I mean.”

“No— _Adam_ , no _, don’t—_!”

It all happens way faster than her eyes are able to catch.

The grey flash, the supernatural whirling around as fast as a thunder strikes. She can’t make out what he reached for, but suddenly he’s in the air above her, Adam’s palm covering his whole neck. His grip tightens, sickeningly so, the whole room spins in her eyes, but she can hear the crash and crunch of bones and tissue, one last strangled “See you in hell, vampire,” hissed through blood and teeth.

Gwen closes her eyes.

Adam flings the man across the room as if he weighs nothing. The body lands somewhere among the fray, and suddenly, the sounds and noises of the fighting fade into the background.

She tries to swallow. Fear makes it impossible.

A soft, quiet grunt, and something clatters to the ground.

“Gwen.”

They never told that someone else’s life could flash before your eyes, or just a part of it, but it does. It all does, from a coat too big wrapped around her shoulders to drinking wine alone together in the middle of the night. From their quiet laughter being the only sound in the library to the fluorescent carnival lights dancing around them, lost in the vivid crowd.

One fragile moment of them, immortalized in a picture she never saw again after that night.

(Together, but never really alone; the lingering presence of Nate’s always there, a love-filled shadow always ghosting over theirs.)

How many times had she been close to kissing him?

She forces her eyes open, but they refuse to rise from the ground. Adam’s hand reaches for her, covered in crimson; it leaves stains of the same shade on her skin as his fingers wrap around her wrist.

“Gwen,” he repeats. His other hand comes to rest against the wall, next to her head. Everything in her sight is one blurry, watery shape. He doesn’t ask her to look at him, but she knows she must, though the mere thought shreds her heart into pieces.

And it’s so, so much worse when she finally does. Nothing could’ve ever prepared her for the sight.

He tries so hard to ease himself down to his knees, but ends up collapsing halfway, Gwen catching him to her best effort. The chest of his shirt is soaked in red and horribly wet from blood, and she almost flinches but the adrenaline that still courses in her veins pushes aside any innate instinct.

“Adam,” she chokes a whisper. “Stay with me, _please_ , stay with me.”

She settles him in her arms, holding as much of him against her as she can possibly gather. The scraps and wounds that he’d gotten earlier, split skin about to knit itself back together, they’ve stopped healing. All of them.

He grows too cold too quickly.

“Please,” she continues, lifting a hand to caress his cheek, everything comes rushing back in stark definition as the tears finally fall free. “Not like this, you have to stay with me, you hear me? Agency will be here any minute, and...”

She leans down, pressing her forehead against his. “ _Adam.”_

Adam’s hand comes to rest on the back of her neck, the hold alarmingly weak for someone of his strength. His voice is hoarse, but carries every ounce of comfort and tenderness he so rarely let be heard.

“Gwen.” His hand slips down, fingers brushing against her cheek as he whispers, “Don’t cry.”

(She remembers, that Adam’s orders are ones of affection and care. _You have to go. You should rest._ _You have to live through this_ , a promise she wants so desperately for him to make now in return, but knows can’t ask for.)

She covers his hand with hers. Turns her face enough to kiss his palm. Holds it there, and murmurs ‘ _I love you.’_

He’s had to know it all along, hasn’t he? He must have.

Holds him close as his breathing slows. Gathers enough courage to look him in the eyes, and Adam gazes at her as if nothing else exists but her, lips curving into a faint smile. His mouth falls open as though there’s so much he wants to say, but decides against it, the only words that come out, “You’re beautiful.”

(She remembers, after Murphy, how she had reached out for him, telling him, “ _You really are handsome.”_ )

She kisses his forehead, then rests her own against it once more. Cries, even though he told her not to, and waits. Listens, feels his chest heave with stuttering breaths, slow, up and down, rising and falling...

...until it doesn’t anymore.

...

The uproar of the battle comes rushing back, but she doesn’t hear it. Her fingers run over his hair, down his neck, to his cheek. The ice-cold of it bites at her skin.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her hands refuse to let him go, but she knows that this all must soon end. “I’m so sorry.”

She tears her forehead away from his, glossy stare reluctantly returning to the fight. Everything is unclear, it’s impossible to find anyone amidst the chaos. Gwen tries to clear her throat, but the hollowness inside has caught her voice and holds it hostage.

“Nate,” she sobs, hoping that he’ll hear her. “ _Nate!”_

She can scarcely make out the tall figure snapping his attention to them. Apparently her voice had carried enough to catch the attention of everyone else as well, for the sounds and noises of the fight begin to die out.

Everything seizes. Time, even.

Nate’s unearthly howl shakes the ground.

And then, silence falls.

•

_Three weeks later_

She hasn’t spoken with Nate since.

The Warehouse has become haunted ground. The memory of _him_ lingers on every room and surface, his imposing presence still so evident in everything he’s ever touched.

Tonight, Gwen finds herself standing in front of the green door of his room. It has remained untouched, and only being here feels as though she’s invading something sacred.

It doesn’t change when she opens the door and steps inside. The familiarity of it all is nothing if not bittersweet; it feels like Adam. Feels like home, though bare and simple it may be. Unadorned and raw, just like him.

She lets her hand slide across the few surfaces of furniture there is as she walks further in. There’s not much to look at here, but in an odd way, it’s comforting. Safe. Everything in plain sight. She walks to the bed, soothing out the small wrinkles that form as she takes a seat on the edge of it.

The sudden numbness that spreads throughout her whole body makes her breath catch in her throat.

She remembers the first time she was in here—

 _You are everything_.

—better not think of that now.

She shifts closer to the nightstand, fingertips dancing along the edge of it. For whatever reason, her hand goes to the handle, and she gingerly pulls it open.

 _Nothing much here_ , she thinks, a hint of a smile rising on her lips. _Kind of predictable._

A glimpse of something, tucked deep into the back corner of the drawer catches her eye. Brows furrowed, she reaches out for it. _Not really paper_ , she notes. _Photographic one, maybe?_

The photo is face down when she pulls it out. She shouldn’t be doing this, snooping around, but there’s something about this she can’t shake off, a feeling...

With shaky hands, she turns it around.

“...What?” she chokes back a sob.

(She remembers, his arms around her waist, her hands cupping his face. He kept an awfully good poker face, but she could see the flush creeping onto his cheeks when she touched him.)

All this time, it was here. Tucked safely away and protected.

A hesitant knock forces her to rip her dazed stare away from it. Nate lingers by the doorway.

“I saw it was open,” he murmurs. He looks like he hasn’t slept in years. “Do you... do you mind if I join you?”

“Come,” she says and pats the space next to her. “Please.”

He doesn’t move at first, glancing around warily. It must be torture for him to be here, but eventually he steps inside and makes his way to her.

For a long while, they don’t speak—until Nate spots the picture she’s holding. His brows pinch together at the sight of it, but she can’t tell whether it’s because of him, her, or _them_. Upon noticing, Gwen hands it to him.

Another strained silence. His shoulders shake ever so slightly, though no sound comes.

“It’s a good picture,” he manages to whisper. A moment passes, and he takes a deep breath in. “We should put it in the living room.”

Gwen shakes her head, “No. It belongs here.”

Nate turns to her, holding her gaze, and gives her a small nod. She plucks the picture carefully from his hands and sets it back inside the open drawer. Then, she stands up.

“Will you stay?” she asks quietly. Nate lets his eyes drift across the room, the look in them weary and empty.

“No,” he says, though he sounds reluctant. Gwen offers him her hand, and he takes it, following her up. “There are much better ways to remember him.”

They drift back towards the hallway. As she sets her hand on the knob, Gwen throws one more glance inside the room.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

And then, she closes the door.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @lyuyu


End file.
